


You Always Had Cool Stuff

by justabi



Category: Numb3rs
Genre: Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-13
Updated: 2005-04-13
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:53:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justabi/pseuds/justabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Sticky Magazine</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Always Had Cool Stuff

**Author's Note:**

> Math porn is too much for my pathetic willpower to resist. Thank you, restless_jedi and roxymissrose!

Don always had the coolest stuff, stuff that acted like the North end of a magnet to Charlie’s South. Consequently, Charlie spent a fair amount of his free time sneaking into Don’s room to look at the _*stuff*_. He tried to restrict himself to just _looking_, but inevitably he moved on to touching at a rate exponentially related to the coolness of the object he was trying not to touch. Which was why in less than two seconds from the time he saw the magazine peeking out from underneath Don’s bed, Charlie was sprawled out on said bed, flipping through the pages as fast as he could. Don would be furious if he found Charlie with it, but he couldn't help himself.

Charlie had _never_ seen a magazine like this before. There were naked people in it, 49 to be exact, which was a special number because 49 is a perfect square. Charlie had heard that 69 was supposed to be a _dirty_ number, but there was nothing special about it, not like 49. Not to mention that all 49 of these people were doing things Charlie would have thought would be painful, if not outright impossible. Could all women spread their legs 172 degrees like that, especially when a man that big was doing _*that*_ to her? Charlie estimated that the man’s penis was an order of magnitude bigger than he was, which was disheartening, but Charlie was only 13, so he still had time to make up for some of that.

About half way through his second look through the dirty magazine Charlie realized he was rubbing himself into the bed, Don’s bed, but he couldn’t stop, and he couldn’t leave. Don would beat him to a bloody pulp and then kill him if he took the magazine out of his room, and Charlie wasn’t about to stop looking at it when he knew Don was at baseball practice for at least another hour. But he wasn’t going to do _*that*_ in Don’s room, and definitely not on Don’s bed. But it wouldn’t hurt anyone if he just rubbed a little more. He could wait until he absolutely had to leave and then he could take care of it locked safely in his own room.

Twenty-eight minutes later he had come once from grinding against the bedspread with the baseball print that had been on Don’s bed as long as Charlie could remember, and once accidentally when he got a little too enthusiastic about wiping himself off with the Kleenex from Don’s bedside table. His underpants were probably a lost cause, but if he hid them in the bottom of the hamper Mom wouldn’t notice them. He had a bit of a hair-trigger, and from listening in on Don and his friends talking in the locker room after games, Charlie knew that wasn’t good, but right now, when he had an entire half an hour left with Don’s magazine, it seemed like the best thing ever.

His jeans were unzipped and his dick was poking out the flap in his messy briefs, and it was *not* going back in there until they’d been washed, so rubbing against the bed was out. Don would notice for sure if he got _*stuff*_ on his comforter. Charlie felt a little exposed like this, sitting on the edge of his big brother’s bed with his thing hanging out for anybody to see. He wanted to crawl under the covers and curl up with his head under them, too, like he did when he did this in his own room so much so that he had to pinch himself forcibly to remind himself that this was Don’s bed and he absolutely could not do that. His indecision resulted in staying frozen at the edge of the bed while he stared at the glossy pages in his hand.

It was taking longer for him to get hard this time, but his dick twitched in his hand when he flipped to a picture of a man who looked exactly like the pitcher on Don’s team humping a pretty girl who looked like Iris from his Ethics seminar. The man, the one who looked like Mike, had the same blond hair, the same tan, muscled body Charlie had seen in the locker room, the same perfect face. He even had the little cleft in his chin like Mike. The only reason Charlie could look away from the photograph at all was that he was a little chaffed and he had to fumble around for Don’s lotion.

Don had much better lotion than he did. It was thick and slippery all at once and felt so, so good as he covered his aching dick with slow, thorough strokes, remembering the way Mike had done it the time Charlie had accidentally walked in on him in the shower after all the other guys had gone home. There were books he needed in his bag, but he’d forgotten it in the locker the team had given him next to Don’s as an honorary member of the team for all his help studying for College Algebra and the occasional Calc I, preventing half the guys being benched due to academic probation. So Charlie had gone back, and there Mike was, hard and running his hand up and down his *huge* dick like he had all the time in the world.

There were things in life that Charlie had patience for, working equations, trying to solve unsolvable math problems, even tutoring dumb jocks and the occasional pretty girl, but this, this was _*not*_ one of them. He could never go as slow, as languidly as Mike had that day. Charlie was always afraid someone would walk in and catch him, or he simply had too many other things to do for it to be feasible to take so long at something so trivial. But not today; he still had fifteen minutes before Don would be back, maybe longer if he hung out with the guys afterward, and nothing else to do.

He could remember the pattern of the water trickling down Mike's back and the shoulder of his left arm bracing him against the tile wall. Charlie had been hard then, too, but he was hiding and too scared to do anything about it. He’d recited the Fibonacci sequence in his head to n=53 before he was calm enough to run back out to the car. Don had been pissed off that he’d dinked around so long and made them late for dinner. Mom hadn’t been mad, but Dad had yelled at Don for twenty minutes.

Going this slow was maddening. Charlie felt like Zeno’s runner, doomed never to finish the race, only to travel half the remaining distance to the finish line infinitely. He was close, so, so close, but he was used to doing it faster and getting off and getting on with his day, but this was torture. Good, really, really good torture, but still frustrating as heck. It didn’t help that he’d already blown his wad twice in the last hour, either. But he just needed one more minute, he was sure, and if all else failed, he could always just bring himself off with a few hard, fast strokes like he was used to.

The magazine was in his lap now, because he needed his other hand to brace himself on the bed. He’d have to be careful to spread his legs just enough to let it fall to the floor before he got it sticky and himself clobbered by Don. It was so good, though, that he forgot about the worn periodical balanced on his thighs, his head thrown back and his eye shut tight replaying that scene in the shower over and over again, until he felt a hand on his shoulder shaking him. He opened his eyes, saw Don angrier than he’d ever seen him before and came all over the damn thing.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Charlie?! God, what is with you, you twisted little pervert?!” Don picked him up and kept shaking him like a rag doll for several minutes while he continued to yell, but Charlie only caught the odd, _“you disgusting, warped, abnormal freak!”_ or _“why couldn’t I have a normal brother?”_ or Don’s favorite, _“I don’t know why I had to get stuck with Rain Man.”_

When Don threw him to the ground and snatched his magazine back Charlie took his chance and ran. There was no way Don was going to tell Mom and Dad about this, but that didn't matter. He’d be paying for it with Don until that mythical runner finally crossed the finish line. Still, it was worth it, because there was no doubt about it: Don had the coolest stuff.


End file.
